


The Night in Question

by weezly14



Series: Time Loop [5]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:32:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1251187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weezly14/pseuds/weezly14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dinner disaster, from Rose's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night in Question

            She’s nervous. Which is ridiculous.

            Isn’t it?

            It’s just a dinner. Just some stupid—

            She shakes the thoughts aside and finishes getting ready.

\---

            She’s never seen him in a tux. She’s barely seen him in t-shits, though, so maybe that’s not surprising. Creature of habit, her Doctor. He’s always handsome, but—

            She likes the tux. Not the bow tie so much, though. She’s partial to his ties. (She can grab him by his tie.) He’s smiling softly at her and he just—and he tells her she looks beautiful and it’s not the first time he’s said it or anything but there are butterflies in her stomach nevertheless and she steps closer and straightens his bowtie and can they just skip this stupid dinner and stay in?

            He gives her a quick kiss and offers her his arm and she rolls her eyes at him and he grins and says, “Your chariot awaits,” and he’s such a dork and she loves him.

            And _that’s_ a terrifying word.

            They’ve not said the word ‘love’ yet. She’s almost positive he—but she wants him to say it. She needs him to say it so she knows she hasn’t made it up in her head. Because the way he looks at her, the way he is, she just—

            Mickey wasn’t a terrible boyfriend. He’s lovely, in his own way. Jimmy was—

            But the Doctor’s almost too good to be true. What are the odds that she’d find this wonderful bloke in a coffee shop—this brilliant, sweet, adorable, wonderful man—and that he’d fall in love with her? It sounds like a story. It’s the sort of thing you read about in books, not the sort of thing that happens in real life. She’s—she _knows_ she loves him. She’s known for quite some time. But he hasn’t said anything, and maybe he’s just—after all, it took ages of them practically dating to ever even kiss, and of course they could barely even manage to get that right. But love is a big word, and she won’t say it until he does. She’s all in; she needs to make sure he is, too.

\---

            He chats the whole way to the dinner, but she’s distracted. She’s been fighting it all week, but she’s _nervous_ about this. She’s never—

            She met him at the shop. As much as he tells her about his course, about his research, he’s always—they’ve always existed in their own world. In the shop, in the pub, in his flat or hers. Even her mum’s. He is the Doctor, and she is Rose, and it’s enough. She’s never seen him like this, though, in his element. Here he’ll be John Smith, PhD candidate. Apple of Harriet Jones’ eye. Brilliant up and coming researcher. He’s still the Doctor of course, but—

            She doesn’t know him like this. And she’s afraid she won’t be enough. The Doctor who serves coffee and works in a shop, him she knows. But she never even got her A-levels. How can she be expected to keep up with him, here? And how can she—if she can’t—

            He grabs her hand as soon as they’re out of the car, grinning.

            She loves him, and she doesn’t want to lose him.

            She wonders if he’s as preoccupied with the thought as she is.

\---

            _My plus one_.

            She tells herself it isn’t a big deal, but—

            And true, they never did come up with labels (she has no idea what his stupid aversion to ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ is, how difficult is it to just—) but still. It stings, and it shouldn’t, but she’s tired of him being so—

            He smiles and holds her hand and doesn’t even hesitate to come by when she calls him at two in the morning but he won’t call her his girlfriend and he won’t tell her he loves her and she doesn’t know what to do with that. He barely even wanted her to come in the first place. Her insides are twisting and she tries to ignore it but she just—

            She stands by his side and holds his hand while he networks with important scientists and professors and donors or whoever. She stands there and doesn’t say anything and the terrifying thought that she’s just some sort of _trophy_ or—

            But no. He may be a lot of things but he’s not—he’s not like _that_.

            Still.

            She listens to him talk—listens to these conversations—and she can never—she can listen. But she’ll never be able to talk with him like this, and this—this is his life, isn’t it? This is his life’s work. And she—

            He squeezes her hand—he’s caught on to her mood, has he?—but she doesn’t squeeze back.

            It’s announced that dinner will be served, and he apologizes to whoever he was talking to, she didn’t catch the name, and asks her what’s wrong as they head to their table.

            “Nothing.”

            “Rose—”

            She’s not doing this here.

            “Just leave it, all right?”

            “Talk to me,” he says, and her heart twists. She wants to. She wishes they could but he—he has to be here. They can’t just—

            “You’re a bit busy. You have all of them to talk to,” she replies. And she won’t hold him back.

            “Rose—”

            “Not now.”

            They arrive at their table and he pulls out her chair and she feels like crying.

            “Hello, I’m John, and this is my girlfriend, Rose,” he says, as if everything is fine between them, but she can see the tension in his shoulders. He glances at her as he says it, as if seeking her approval, as if to say, _see? I called you my girlfriend. Are you happy now?_

            She’s not.

\---

            She’s never actually met Harriet Jones but in this moment Harriet Jones is her favorite person.

            “Excuse me,” she says quietly, a few people nod and one fixes her with a look that makes her want to hit something and she doesn’t run out but it’s a near thing and of course he’s following her and would he just—

            _God_ , she knew it, she never should’ve—

            And she just—

            And she hates that she’s crying, hates that it means so much to her, hates that “ah” when she had no answer to “where did you go to school” question, hates the looks and the assumptions and the fact that she will never be—isn’t—

            “Rose—”

            He grabs her arm to stop her and she pulls it free.

            “Go back inside,” she says, turning to him despite her better judgment, she should just get a cab, just leave, just—

            “No, what’s—”

            And he looks so _sad_ and so lost and she hates that she’s crying and she’s ruining this evening for him.

            “I’ll get a cab, it’s fine,” she says, wiping her eyes and turning away from him because she can’t look at him right now, she can’t—

            “Rose, talk to me, what’s—”

            “You should get back in there, they’ll wonder where you’ve gone, they’ll—”

            “Fuck them!” he exclaims, running a hand through his hair and it’s sticking up even more than normal and he looks ridiculous with his hair like that, in his tux, like a little boy playing dress up or something and it tugs at something in her heart and she can’t do this, she can’t do this to him. “Rose, tell me what’s wrong. Please,” he says, reaching for her hands but she won’t—she won’t touch him now because she needs to do this, it’s better this way, he—he needs to understand.

            “I didn’t go to school, John.”

            It’s a low blow, using his first name, she knows he hates when she does it but she needs—and she catches the frustration—

            “Rose—”

            “Shut up, I’m trying to tell you,” she says, and he does. He takes a small step back as if to say, _the floor is yours_ and she takes a deep breath and she’s really doing this, isn’t she?

            “I didn’t go to university,” she tells him, and she glances up at his face and he’s just this jumble of nervous tension and confusion and she wants—she just wants to reach out and touch him, cup his face or hug him or something, soothe away all his nerves, but she _can’t_ , she—

            “That’s not—okay, but why—”

            “I never even got my A-levels. I left school at 16, because of Jimmy Stone, and—”

            “Of course,” he mutters, and she can’t look at him. _Months_ he’s been bugging her about Jimmy bloody Stone and now she tells him and he—and the tears are back and she turns away and—

            “No, no, I didn’t mean that how it sounded, I—”

            But no, she was right, she shouldn’t have told him, should never have started up with him—what was she even thinking, bloke like him with a girl like her—

            “Rose, wait, please will you _stop_ ,” he says and there’s something in his voice that’s so—so she does, she stops, but she doesn’t look at him, she can’t.

            “Thank you,” he says. He takes a deep breath. “What does all this—why is this all coming up now?”

            She looks up at him now.

            “You’re joking, right?” she asks with a laugh. He cringes a bit but she keeps on. “First, you didn’t even want to bring me here—”

            “That’s not true,” he says insistently, but she ignores him.

            “It is! All week, oh it’s going to be so boring, you don’t have to come, don’t feel like you have to do this—you were practically begging me not to and I should have, I should’ve taken the out, I—”

            “That wasn’t—it is boring, _I_ didn’t even want to come and this is what I do, I didn’t want you to feel like I dragged you along—”

            “And then—‘my plus one’—”

            “You are!” he exclaims, and he doesn’t get it at all, does he? His eyes are wide and his hair is a mess and his bow tie is crooked and they’re having this argument outside a fancy hotel and _when_ did this become her life? When did she get so—

            She sighs.

            “So that’s it, then?” she asks. “You can’t even bear the thought of calling me your girlfriend in front of your colleagues—”

            “I—at the table, I told them, what did I say? I said, ‘this is my girlfriend Rose,’ I—”

            “Because you knew I was upset!”

            “Of course I knew! Why does it matter why I said it as long as I said it?”

            “You didn’t _want_ to, that’s the point, and no wonder, why would you, brilliant scientist—”

            “Oi, that’s not—”

            “You are, though, aren’t you, you’re some kind of genius, there’s no other way you’d’ve been in a PhD program so young.”

            He sighs and she knows—she _knows_ she has him on this one. And that’s really the crux of it all, isn’t it?

            “Why does that matter?” he asks weakly, and he looks so lost, so sad, her Doctor, her John, and she wants—she wants to be the one by his side but she can’t. She’s not cut out for this, and he may not realize yet but—

            “Because,” she says, taking a step closer and straightening his bow tie, and she can feel herself tearing up again, “I never went to university, for a boy—a stupid boy—and I work for my step-dad. And your life is this. Fancy events with doctors and scientists, important people who are doing important research. You should be with someone like that. Not me.”

            “Don’t. Don’t do that,” he says, and he looks like he might start crying, too, and _don’t you dare, John Smith_. “Rose Tyler you are brilliant.”

            “Stop it,” she says, turning away. He grabs her arm and doesn’t let her pull away this time.

            “You are. Don’t even—you think I care about that? I don’t care what you do or where you went to school or what—I care about _you_. You could work in a shop for all I care—Henrik’s or a chippy—I work at a coffee shop, Rose, remember that, I—”

            And she wants to believe him, she does, but—

            “But that’s only temporary,” she points out, and he releases her to throw his arms up in exasperation and why won’t he just let her _go_ , why can’t they just end this now before it gets any harder, why can’t he just—

            “I don’t care about any of it!” he exclaims, and she’s glad they’re outside the hotel and not in the lobby, but he’s not done. “Where you work or where I work or what—what those idiots think. I want you,” he says, taking her hands in his and taking a step closer, his eyes boring into hers and she can’t look away. “And you are brilliant and I don’t know if it was Jimmy Stone who told you you weren’t or someone else but they were lying.”

            She looks away and the tears are flowing freely now and his hands are gripping hers and _God_ , she loves him, but—

            “Please believe me,” he whispers. She shakes her head, taking a step back.

            “What happens when you finish? Finally get your degree, become a proper doctor. You’ll quit the shop, right? Move on.”

            “Rose—”

            He sounds so broken and she has to leave now, they have to just—

            “I can’t,” she says, turning away and leaving like she should’ve done ten minutes ago and her heart hurts but it’s for the best, this is—they never would’ve worked, she’s not—he’s too good for her and eventually he would’ve seen that or maybe—maybe he already has, they’ve—yes, she loves him but he’s never—he won’t even call her his girlfriend so really it’s for the best, to end things now, to get out while she still can, before she’s completely—

            She’s walking away and it _hurts_ and—

            “Rose Tyler—”

            And she doesn’t know why she stops but she does and—

            “I love you.”

            And it knocks the wind out of her.

            _God_.

            And it’s not _fair_ that he would—and a sudden terrifying thought hits her, that maybe he’s only—

            She turns around to face him and he’s looking at his trainers, utterly dejected, and he looks up as she steps toward him and there’s something like hope there.

            “Rose?” he says, and it twists something inside her and she wants to say it back, wants to touch him, wants him to hold her and say it again, but what if—

            “Please say something,” he says, taking a step toward her.

            “Tell me you didn’t just say that to stop me leaving,” she says quietly, and his face goes blank. He opens his mouth to respond but no words come out and he closes it and he—

            “How could you even think that?” he says, hurt, and _no, don’t shut down_ —

            “What am I supposed to think? You’ve never said it before, awfully convenient, isn’t it, that you’d happen to say it _now_ —”

            And he’s looking at her like she slapped him or something, hurt and desperate and _ridiculous_ in that stupid bow tie, she wants to tear it off and trample on it as though it is the cause of this entire disaster, or maybe she’s just projecting, and he’s running his hand through his hair and would he _stop_ —

            “It’s true! I love you, Rose Tyler,” he says, and her heart stutters, “I’m _in_ love with you, I’ve been trying to tell you for— _weeks_ —I just—how can you—I know I’m bad at this but am I really that—”

            He breaks off and looks away, pacing a bit, and _fuck_ , he’s serious, and she’s hurt him now, and—

            “You have no idea how much you mean to me—obviously, or we wouldn’t be doing this right now,” he says. He shakes his head, scrubs a hand over his face. “No idea.”

            He looks so tired and she wants so much to reach out to him but she can’t, it’s like she’s stuck to her spot and can’t move and she’s just watching him spiral into despair, and why hasn’t she said anything yet?

            “I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head again. “I’m sorry but I can’t—”

            He turns.

            _No_ —no, he can’t—

            “Wait—” she says, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards her. He comes willingly and she hugs him close, burying her face in his chest and he sighs and she _loves_ him, she’s in love with him, she wants—she wants forever with this man and it’s terrifying and exhilarating and she never wants to let go and he’s holding her just as tightly and she can feel some of the tension drain out of him and it’s not like she had been holding her breath throughout that entire conversation but it feels like she can breathe again, now.

            They just stand like that for a few moments and she should really say something but she just wants to rest in this for a moment, she just—

            But finally she pulls back and he looks dejected at that so she smiles and reaches her hand up to his cheek and he leans into her touch and she takes a deep breath.

            “I get scared sometimes,” she says, and he’s listening so intently, completely focused on her and it almost makes her want to look away but she needs to be looking at him for this, she owes him that at least. “A lot, actually. I know you—I know you care about me, of course I do. I just—I love you, Doctor,” she tells him, and she can _feel_ the change in him as she says it and she smiles a little wider and keeps going. “And I’ve been so afraid that you—I don’t know what to do with these feelings. And I didn’t know what I would do if it turned out you didn’t feel the same.”

            “But I do,” he says immediately, and she laughs a little and he smiles and he—he _loves_ her.

            “Yeah,” she responds.

            She kisses him, then, because she can’t help it, because he’s beautiful and wonderful and brilliant and she loves him and he loves her and she never—she _never_ would’ve imagined it, never would’ve thought that this—that he—but he does, and she pours everything into this kiss, it’s an apology, a reassurance, an _I love you_ , an _I’m not going anywhere_ , everything.

            They break apart gasping, and he looks at her and her heart stutters and—

            “Rose?”

            “Yeah?”

            “I love you.”

            And she smiles and he smiles and—

            And she kisses him again.

 


End file.
